


until your lungs give out

by despertarse



Category: One Direction (Band)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-19
Updated: 2013-01-17
Packaged: 2017-11-21 14:27:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/598796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/despertarse/pseuds/despertarse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zayn blames the suits.</p><p>If they hadn’t pushed him to make friends with Max – “Just a few tweets, show that there’s no animosity between the bands” – he doubts he would’ve found himself in this position. </p><p>Sitting in a London jail. </p><p>- Or, the one in which Zayn challenges Max to a band versus band competition  and One Direction and The Wanted have 16 hours to complete a series of tasks in the city of London.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I really don't know where this came from. All I can say is I hope you enjoy it. x

It begins easily enough. 

With all the rumours flying around the media that One Direction and The Wanted hate each other, Management has to find a way to halt them. They choose Zayn to help do it. Quiet Zayn who never says too much, never tweets too much, because if _Zayn_ doesn’t have a problem with The Wanted, why would the rest of the band? 

Zayn obliges – but only because he _has_ to. He has seen management take over Louis’ twitter on several occasions and he doesn’t want his own to be next if he refuses to go along with them. In truth, he thinks Max is an arrogant git. Sure he can sing, but he’s such a wanker in interviews it kind of goes by the wayside. 

They send a few tweets back and forth, playing off one another, and the fans erupt. Some hate it, some love it, some scream PR intervention. They’re correct, and Zayn finds some sick pleasure in their ability to read between the lines. Management on the other hand aren’t pleased with Zayn at all and take the tweets down within an hour. 

One phone call between the two management teams, and the next time both bands are in London Zayn and Max head out to Whiskey Mist together, with Niall and Siva in tow. Even if they usually sneak in through the back, this time they go in through the front. Zayn forces a smile and hopes the waiting paparazzi – who had been quietly slipped the information they’d be here tonight – get the photos Management wants. The four boys crowd around a little table in the VIP area, too close for comfort but the alcohol helps. Zayn sits quietly in the corner of the booth next to Max, nodding along with the banter of the others. Niall and Siva seem to have a shocking amount of things in common, he decides, judging by the way one of them keeps saying something about growing up in Ireland, and the other almost always responds with “oh my god me too!” Why couldn’t _they_ be the ones working to dispel the rumours? At least they’d be doing it somewhat honestly.

“Is it just me, or do they sound impossibly more Irish?” Max asks in the awkward whisper/shout needed to be heard over the music but still stay conspicuous. 

Zayn glances over at their two bandmates on the other side of the table who are now animatedly discussing football. The accent Zayn so loved when he first met Niall is back on the blonde’s tongue, colouring his words and hiding the London inflection he’d picked up over the past few years. His smile is soft before he catches himself and forces his face blank again. 

“Dunno about Siva, but Niall always does when he’s drunk,” he says simply, shrugging one shoulder. 

“Hey. I’m not _drunk_ ” Niall argues, his slurred words not helping his cause. He says ‘drunk’ like it’s the most offensive thing he’s ever heard, eyebrows knitting together in a scowl. 

“You’re right pissed mate, you should let me finish that,” Siva says before stealing the half-full drink in Niall’s hand and downing it. 

The two then dissolve into giggles, hands pressed to their mouths and faces turning pink. 

Zayn decides it’s time to get their friends home and nudges Max out of their side of the booth. He slides to his feet easily, shrugging into his leather jacket. He’s nowhere near as gone as Niall, having had less to drink and a better tolerance for liquor. They pull the other two off of the bench, one after the other sliding to legs made of gelatin, bodies heavy with alcohol and sleepiness. 

“Don’t wan’ go,” Niall says indignantly but he’s putting on his coat anyway and allowing Siva to adjust the scarf he’s only managed to get half around his neck. 

“We’ll do this again,” Max promises him with a smile. 

Zayn shivers. God he hopes there isn’t a next time.

***

Next time never happens because Management comes to their senses and sends Niall and Siva out again instead. Zayn is grateful and Niall doesn’t mind a bit. He actually likes Siva and enjoys his company, so it isn’t a chore like it was for Zayn. The pictures come back the next morning and the difference between them and the ones from the previous week are obvious. Smiles instead of grimaces, joking instead of insults. He’s still told to keep up the tweeting with Max, and it’s bearable. At least he doesn’t have to spend real time with him anymore. 

***

Soon they’re back in New York City for Jingle Ball and Zayn can’t help but relax a little. They’ve already played Madison Square Garden once this week, one of the biggest nights of their lives; this time around won’t be as nerve-wracking. 

They bring the house down and come off the stage in their typical highs, joking and climbing all over one another. Louis and Harry are the first to fall to the floor in the green room, as usual, then Niall jumps on top of them, followed by Zayn, and Liam finally rounds off the pile by slipping under someone’s arm. 

“I love you guys. So much,” Louis says and a second later the others are struggling to sit up and press kisses to his flushed cheeks. 

“Love you too, Lou,” Zayn replies and ruffles the smaller boy’s hair. 

When the show wraps up, they’re all still grinning as they move into the press areas and out the doors for the after party. 

“We were better than One Direction tonight,” Zayn catches Max saying near the exit. “We always are.” 

Liam hears it too and immediately grips the back of Zayn’s jacket and pushes him along and out to the car muttering, “He isn’t worth it.” 

Zayn doesn’t have a problem with competition. It’s normal, it’s healthy. It makes the world go round. Of course Max thinks The Wanted are better. _He_ thinks his own band are the better band because they’re his friends, his brothers. But the way Max says it, the smirk he throws over his shoulder as Zayn passes by, makes his stomach clench and the anger rise in his chest. All the work he has to go through to make it look like they’re at least _civil_ and Max can’t keep his mouth shut for two seconds. 

He spends the rest of the evening drinking and singing karaoke, alternating between teasing Taylor and Harry and curling up next to Niall on the edge of the stage not saying anything. He watches the others mess about, Ed and Harry butchering songs, Louis and Eleanor and Liam and Danielle dancing in the middle of the dance floor. 

“You okay mate?” Niall asks, concern in his blue eyes as Zayn sits quietly nursing his… He has no idea what it is but it’s strong. 

“Fine,” Zayn mumbles and pulls his phone out of his pocket. 

_one direction could beat your sorry band at anything._

Max’s reply comes seconds later. 

_sorry band? think you’re getting it a bit twisted mate._

_pick something, anything you like, and we’ll beat you._

_anything? in that case we better make it interesting._

_wouldn’t expect anything less._

As soon as the message is marked “sent,” Zayn’s stomach drops. Max is cunning. He won’t let him off easy. 

“Fuck.” 

***

It's cold and Zayn cannot _believe_ he's gotten them into this mess. 

Louis rocks forward onto the tips of his toes, bouncing excitedly. His expectant grin matches Niall's and even Harry and Liam look excited. 

“Okay, here are the rules,” Nathan says before glancing down at the sheet of paper in his hands. “’Number one: public transportation and slash or walking only. Absolutely no use of drivers.’”

“What about friends?” Harry asks, already thinking of asking Nick to help. Cos Nick would be good at this.

“’Number two,’” Nathan continues, “’all tasks must be completed only by members of the band with no supplementary help.’” 

“So no calling in favours from Grimshaw,” Jay says pointedly. 

Harry’s lips pull down in a pout, but he knows if One Direction can’t pull in favours, then The Wanted can’t either so at least they’re on even footing.

“Number three: unless otherwise noted, all tasks must be completed by all members of the band.” 

Liam wonders what the hell they’re going to have to do if _that_ is a rule. 

“’Number four: all tasks must be documented. Each band is equipped with a camera and packets of film,” Nathan pauses and glances around at the other nine boys huddled around him. “Do we have the rucksacks?”

Niall nods and turns slightly so the canvas rucksack over his shoulders can be seen by the rest. Among other things, inside are Harry’s Spirit 600 and ten packets of film. On the other side of the circle, Siva is lifting up The Wanted’s rucksack of supplies. He and Niall exchange a look of longing. 

“Alright then. ‘Number five: each band has 500 pounds they may use in any way they wish to complete the tasks.’ And ‘Number six: tasks must be completed by midnight with both bands returning to the approved meeting place. The band with the most points, wins.’” 

Nathan hands a sealed blue envelope to Zayn, and a second to Max.

“Inside are identical lists of tasks and copy of the rules,” he explains. 

“Who made these anyway?” Liam asks, taking the envelope from Zayn and turning it over in his hands. 

“Had an event company put them together,” Max says. “So don’t worry about us already knowing what the tasks are.” 

Zayn wouldn’t put it past him to have peeked, but whatever. They’re too far into this now, and accusations will only delay the inevitable. 

“You lads ready?” he asks of his band mates. 

They nod in unison. 

He turns to Max, who also nods. 

"Three... Two... One... Go!" 

Zayn tears the envelope open and pulls out the task list.


	2. Tasks 2 & 9 (.2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #2. Fit all members into a phone box. 10 points.
> 
> #9. Collect five autographs and photographs from/with strangers (one collected by each member of the band). 30 points.

The boys crowd around Zayn immediately, shoving to get a look at the list. 

"Oh my god," Liam mutters under his breath as he reads down the first page. 

The list is long, longer than any of them really expected, and he's sure they could be arrested for a few of the things is they're not careful. 

"Right, we need a plan," Louis says, blue eyes shining with excitement. He couldn't care less if they beat The Wanted or not; all he wants to do is have fun today. 

Harry pulls the list from Zayn's hands and examines it more closely. He raises his eyes to check their surroundings and then takes off at a run towards the opposite side of the park. 

"Harry! Where are you going?!" Liam shouts at him, but Harry merely waves for them to follow. 

The Wanted are already sprinting off in the other direction, towards the park's main entrance. Siva throws a look over his shoulder and Niall waves in return before following his own band, rucksack bounding between his shoulders. 

Zayn's lungs begin to burn as he catches up to Harry and he curses his smoking habit, making a grab for the younger boy's coat. 

"Would you tell us what you're doing!" 

"I AM GOING TO A PHONE BOX!" Harry yells, flailing his arms towards the trees that separate the edge of the park from the street. 

Through the leaves, Zayn spies the red phone box. He latches onto Harry's arm and pulls him forward again, just as Louis and Niall catch up. Liam pulls ahead, and Niall has to bite back a laugh at how ridiculous they must look. Five boys sprinting across a park, faces ranging from terror to delight. 

They all run into Liam as he slides to a halt at the crossing at the edge of the street. Niall and Louis hit the group last, Louis staggering and falling on his bum with a shout of indignation. Zayn pulls him up as the lights change and Liam is across the road, wrenching open the door of the phone box before the others have caught their breath. 

Niall makes it across the street last, walking slowly as he carefully extracts the camera from his rucksack. 

"Would you hurry up?" Harry demands impatiently, standing on the opposite side and scowling at him. 

"It's not going anywhere, mate. And anyway, we've sixteen hours!" 

"Sixteen hours isn't a lot of time, Niall," Liam chides as he arranges Louis and Zayn in the corners of the phone box. 

Niall rolls his eyes and casts a look around them. People are staring, and he doesn't blame them. It's 8:11 on a Tuesday morning, it's cold, and here they are acting like muppets in the middle of a London street. 

"Excuse me, miss?" he says to the one person who looks more amused than annoyed by their antics. "Could you take a picture of us please? We're in a competition we'd quite like to win." 

"You're Niall Horan aren't you?" the woman inquires with a kind smile as she takes the offered camera. She's old enough to be all their mum, but young enough to be up for a game. 

Niall nods with a grin before squeezing into the box and pulling the door shut behind him. It's a tight fit, with elbows and knees everywhere. Louis is cackling with his face pressed into Harry's curls, who looks like he's rather enjoying being forced up against Zayn. 

"Alright, three...two...one!" the woman counts and presses the shutter. The photograph slips from the front of the camera as Niall opens the door. 

In their struggle to untangle themselves and exit, their collective weight pitches them forward onto the pavement. They land in a heap on top of the blonde, who groans as Liam's body crushes his chest. 

With the camera and photograph in one hand, the woman helps the boys up with her other. 

"Who is this competition against?" she asks, handing the photograph to Louis, who starts laughing again. They only person whose face you can fully see is Zayn's, and he has a fake excited look plastered on, eyes wide and mouth open. 

"The Wanted." 

She shudders. 

"Good luck lads. Beat them." 

"Thanks!" Liam replies, helping Niall put the camera back in the bag. 

"Wait." 

Harry stops them quickly and calls out to the woman who has begun to walk away. 

"Could we get a photo with you, and could you sign it, please?"

She quirks and eyebrow at him, so he continues. 

"It's another task. Five photographs with strangers and their autographs." 

"Well, alright then." 

Harry pushes Niall forward and Liam raises the camera. The woman pulls Niall into a hug, surprising the boy. When the photograph prints he's grinning happily in it, and the woman signs the bottom with a marker offered by Zayn. 

"Thank you so much!" Zayn tells her gratefully and they all hug her before she continues on her way with a fond smile for them all. "What's next?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so short! From here on out, I'll be posting a task nearly every day if I can manage. Because of the... proximity, some chapters will feature more tasks, but more on that as it happens. 
> 
> POINT TOTAL: 16


	3. Tasks 5, 7 (sort of), & 27.2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #5. Demand an audience with the Queen. Instant win if you succeed, 10 points if you fail. 
> 
> #7. Try to sell something to Tate Modern. 20 points if you succeed, 10 points for trying.
> 
> #27. Hug five different road signs (one for each band member). 2 points per sign.

"Let's try to sell something to Tate next," Louis suggests, eyes scanning down the list. "Cos not much is open yet, and a lot of these need something to be open. We can just go to their offices."

"Plus it may take a bit to make something," Harry adds, nodding. 

Niall snorts. 

"You've seen some of the stuff in Tate right? We could make something in about five minutes." 

"But we need  _supplies_ ," Zayn reminds him. 

"Then what are we going to make? A sculpture? A painting?" Liam asks, frowning hard and deep in thought. Zayn is the only artistic one, but  _all_  members of the band have to participate. "What if Zayn draws something and the rest of us colour it in?" 

"But what would I draw?" 

"Mate you could draw a fucking tree and as long as Harry colours it purple, it'll work," Niall says and rolls his eyes. 

"It's not like they're going to say yes, anyway. We're just going for the attempt points here." 

Harry shrugs his shoulders, rubbing his hands together and blowing on them.

"Imagine if they  _did_  say yes," Louis sighs, eyes off in some distant dream world where they're even more famous than they already are. 

Zayn claps him on the shoulder. 

"Never gonna happen mate." 

"Wait, supplies cost money. Shouldn't we be saving it for things that matter?" Niall asks. 

"How dare you! Our art careers matter!"

Louis lunges for him, hands going to encircle his throat playfully. The taller (barely) boy steps out of his way, and Louis ends up on the ground again.

"Leprechaun has a point," Zayn allows and hauls Louis to his feet. "So what do we do then?"

Liam is watching the whole exchange quietly, mind moving from one thing to the next. There  _has_  to be a way to complete this task without having to buy a billion supplies. 

His face suddenly lights as an idea strikes him and he snaps his fingers. 

Harry turns to look at him now, green eyes curious. 

"What, Li?" 

"A sculpture." 

"...of what? Made of what?"

"Bodies." 

Niall's eyes widen and he takes a step backwards from his bandmate. 

"T-that's not what I had in mind when I said we should be saving money," he stutters before swallowing hard. 

"No, you git. I mean we go to the museum, make  _ourselves_  into a sculpture in the middle of the exhibition hall."

Louis' mouth forms a perfect 'o' as Liam's words hit him, and the plan forms in his head. 

"Mate, that's  _brilliant_!" he shouts and launches himself at him. This time, the boy he's targeting grins and opens his arms. "We get to  _be_ art!" He pulls back a bit to look Liam in the eye. "But we have to wait til the actual museum is open then. So. Now what do we do."

Zayn swipes the list from where it's gripped in Louis' hand, hanging in the air behind Liam's head. A handful of the tasks jump out of him as he reads through it again. 

"We can demand an audience with the Queen? Go to Buckingham palace and yell at the guards or something?"

"And look like bloody tourists," Niall says. "Awesome."

"Well how else do we demand an audience with the Queen in a way we can take a valid photograph of it?" Zayn inquires. "We can't just call someone up and be like, 'we need to meet the Queen.' That won't work." 

"Plus, it's right around the corner," Louis adds. 

"Quite literally," Liam chuckles. "We can walk."

"Shall we go then, yeah?" Niall suggests, casting a wary look around them. They have been standing on this street corner for far too long, in his opinion. Twenty minutes at least. If they don't leave quickly, someone is going to notice them. 

But Louis has already taken off down the lane. 

"NIALL GRAB THE CAMERA!" he yells. 

Confused, Niall pulls it out of the bag as he follows. 

When he looks up again from flipping it open, Louis has his arms wrapped around a yield sign. 

Laughing to himself, Niall quickly takes the photograph. Before the film is even out of the camera, Louis is off again, dragging Harry along with him. 

Buckingham Palace is a short walk from Hyde Park, three quarters of a mile at most. It's an even faster trip when the pace is a sprint. 

Liam sighs as he jogs after his bandmates. There's no need to rush. It isn't as if this whole thing is going to come down to a couple of seconds at the end of the night. 

Plus, people are looking. He sees the looks from passer-by in cars and for a long moment he wonders why the hell he agreed to this. 

By the time he reaches the gates of the palace, the other boys are standing next to the palace guards and bouncing around. The guards, on the other hand, stand still and stiff, eyes not even glancing down at them.

The wide concrete area is fairly empty, not many tourists milling about as it isn't even nine in the morning. Liam strides quickly to Niall and takes the camera from the blonde boy's hands so he doesn't drop it.

"PADRON ME, GOOD SIR. BUT WE DEMAND AN AUDIENCE WITH THE QUEEN!" Louis shouts, feet planted squarely in front of one of the guards as if his request is the most normal thing.

Liam raises the camera to his eye, lines up the shot, and presses the shutter before all the words are out of Louis' mouth.

"The Queen, we need to see her, please sir," Zayn begs as he falls to his knees and looks up pleadingly at the other guard, preferring a more subtle approach.

Liam captures the moment as well, collecting the picture and shaking it.

When Louis falls back, absolutely cackling, Harry steps up to take his turn. He sidles up to the guard and smiles cheekily at him, all dimples and green eyes and pure charm _anyone_  else do anything he could ever ask. He flicks his hair out of his eyes and Liam groans because, oh dear god, they may get into trouble if this guard buckles.

"Any way we could see the queen, mate?" Harry asks, voice deep and seductive. He runs his tongue across his bottom lip. "Just for a moment."

The guard doesn't bat an eye at the camera flash or the boy beside him, and Harry's smile turns into a pout as he stands down.

He walks back to Liam and takes the camera from him so the older boy can step forward for his turn. 

Liam walks up to the guard and stands awkwardly before him, unsure as to what to say. 

"Right. So. The Queen. Yeah?" he manages to get out, and behind him Louis is laughing again, doubled over with his hands on his knees. 

"Liam you're the worst ever," he informs him as he joins the rest of the group, scowling. 

Niall is the last to go and steps up confidently, having decided honesty is the best way to go. 

"Okay, we're in this band, One Direction, and we're in a competition against this other band called The Wanted, you may have heard of them, and they're all a bunch of wankers 'cept Siva, but Zayn here," Niall pauses and jerks his thumb back towards where the black haired boy is standing next to Louis now, "went and got into a row with their lead singer, Max, and now we have to complete all these tasks before they do, and I really don't want to lose to them cos he's a right git. So could we please see the Queen? Please?"

He finishes his little monologue in one breath, and looks up at the guard with wide, expectant blue eyes. 

The guard merely quirks a small smile. 

"So that's a no?" 

The man in the hat makes a tiny, almost imperceptible nod. 

"Cheers, mate! Enjoy the rest of your day!" 

Niall turns to rejoin the group, shoulders slumped slightly. For a moment he had thought he would be able to sway the guard. 

"What's next lads?" 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So so so sorry for wanting to update this every day and not following through. Work/school decided to attack me at the same time. Hope it was worth the wait x
> 
> Also a pre-emptive apology for any geography/locations I get incorrect. It's been ages since I was last in London, so I'm going off a lot of memory here. 
> 
> POINT TOTAL: 28


End file.
